


a woman can

by torigates



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the nine-nine</p>
            </blockquote>





	a woman can

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gdgdbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/gifts).



> Happy holidays, gdgdbaby! I hope you enjoy this, I tried to fit in as many of things you asked for! <3
> 
> Thank you to my betas, you two ladies are stars!

Gina’s mom works a lot because her dad is “a dirty fucking cheater who won’t even pay his child support.” At least, that’s what Gina heard her mom say to Aunt Cathy on the phone. 

It’s okay though because even though it means her mom isn’t around a lot Nana Peralta is always home and she doesn’t care if Gina comes over every day, even if Jake’s kind of stupid. He doesn’t like any of the same stuff that Gina likes, he only wants to do dumb boy stuff like play basketball and cops and robbers. 

“We did that yesterday,” Gina whines when Jake asks if she wants to go outside and play Horse. 

Jake rolls his eyes and slides down so his head is hanging off the couch and his legs are tucked over the back. He looks really stupid like that, his face turning red as all the blood rushes down. 

“Fine,” he says. “What do you want to do?” 

Gina thinks about it for a second. “I want to practice my eye makeup.” She saw her mom do this really cool thing with eyeliner and three different colours of shadow yesterday. It looked so grownup and hard, Gina bets she could do it. 

“Ugh, that’s _boring_ ,” Jake says. “You want me to just sit here and watch you put makeup on yourself? No way.” 

Gina sits up. “No,” she says. “I want you to sit there while I put makeup on _you_.” 

Jake makes a face. 

-

“You look very pretty tonight, Jake,” his Nana says when they sit down to eat dinner. 

“Thanks, Nana,” Jake mumbles. 

Gina beams. 

 

 

 

Rosa has a lot of hair. It’s big and wavy, and uncooperative. She learns at an early age how to smuggle it into submission with a fuckton of gel and even more bobby pins. 

As a little girl she used to watch the older girls, with their tight buns and long limbs, the way they moved effortlessly and gracefully as if they were floating. Rosa watches them and learns. Learns how to move her legs and arms in smooth, fluid motions, learns how to cut her ballet shoes and wrap her feet when they bleed. Learns to give her blood and sweat and tears for the ballet company, how to pour herself into it, learns to love dance. 

Dance--and other dancers--doesn’t love her back. 

The day she gets kicked out of the ballet academy, her mother cries. 

“Why do you always have to make problems?” she asks. “Hitting other girls? Rosa, you’re a dancer, not a thug.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest, and doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know how to say she’s _not_ a thug, but she’s not going to let people push her around. 

It’s also the day she decides to join the Police Academy. 

Being a cop takes just as much blood and sweat and tears as being a dancer did. She’s got bloody knuckles instead of toes from working over a punching bag, and she learns to wrap her wrists. 

Sometimes when she looks down her feet are in second position. Learning to fight isn’t that different from learning to dance. She’s already got steel in her spine. 

She wears her hair down so fucking no one forgets she’s both a woman and an officer, and she still doesn’t let people push her around.

She could never be a ballerina and a cop, but sometimes she misses the bloody toenails. 

 

 

 

Amy gets the phone call in the middle of the night. Well, it’s just after midnight, but she’s been asleep for over two hours so it may as well be the middle of the night. She battles with her bedside table until she finds her phone, groaning when she flips it over to see her brother Marc’s info staring back at her. 

“What?” she says. “This better be good, I have a test in the morning and if I don’t pass and fail out of the police academy it’ll be _all your fault._ ” 

There’s a worrisome pause on the other end. 

“Amy? It’s Dan. We’re at the hospital, can you come get us?” 

She sits up straight, he stomach sinking with fear and dread. “Oh my god,” she said. “What happened, are you okay? Is Marc okay?” 

Another pause. Amy’s already standing and stepping into a pair of sweatpants and shoving her feet into her uggs. “Oh my god,” she said. “Don’t move, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” 

She hangs up the phone. 

The drive to the hospital is tense, and Amy can’t stop her brain from picturing all kinds of horrific possibilities. Cursing herself for not going through the Academy faster so she could use a siren, she carefully drove ten miles above the speed limit, praying she didn’t get pulled over. By the time she arrived at the hospital, she convinced herself that Marc was dead and Dan horrifically injured, perhaps maimed. How was she going to tell their parents? She’d have to drop out of the Academy to give Dan full time care, they’d all fall into debt. All their lives were ruined. 

By the time she makes it to the hospital, she's half panic, half rage. It’s just like her brothers to do this to her, call them in the middle of the night to bail them out with no explanations or consideration. Amy is _always_ the one they call, unless things are so bad they have to get mom and dad involved, and she’s always the one left holding the short straw when things come down to the wire. Somehow, she’ll end up explaining this whole mess to their parents, she just knows it. 

It’s not fair. 

She’s always been--not the outcast of the family, her brothers love her, she knows that, but on the outside. Amy doesn’t think they mean to do it, but there’s always been a bit of a boys club between them with her on the outside looking in--until they need her, that is. 

Every time something like this happens she tells herself it’s the last time. No more late night pickups, no more last minute saves when they forget their mom’s birthday, just no more. 

Then they do something incredibly dumb, or incredibly sweet (sometimes both), and she can’t help herself. 

She sighs as she gets out of the car. 

Dan’s in the waiting room when she rushed through the door. She gives him a hug, and breathes in deeply. 

He reeks of alcohol. 

“What the hell happened?” 

“Marc had his foot run over by a car,” he said. “He’s fine, but I can’t drive--”

“Obviously,” Amy says, taking in how drunk he is. “What--where--how did this happen?” 

Marc actually looks kind of embarrassed. “We were leaving a bar, and some assholes were giving us grief, you know, so Marc goes, ‘I’m gonna moon them when they drive out.’” 

Amy covers her face with her hands. 

“I’m not too sure how the car clipped him, honestly,” Marc says. “It was a freak accident.” 

“ _You’re_ a freak accident, I swear to god. I’m going to kill you both.” 

“That’s fine,” Marc says. “Can you just check Dan out of here first?” 

“Ugh,” Amy says, before turning on her heel to talk to the nurse. 

 

 

 

Gina’s seen the movies, okay? She’s seen _Heathers_ she knows how this shit goes when someone new joins a group. 

So when she first joins Floorgasm, she doesn’t expect it to be easy. No. She expects it to be very difficult, followed by a period of her ruling on top, followed by her demise, and a touching lesson about acceptance and other garbage. 

That’s not what happens. 

The people are actually _nice_ for the most part. And while things are and can be a little bit clique-y, for the most part they welcome Gina with open arms. 

“Hi Gina!” Maria says when Gina arrived on her third week as part of the group. “How was your weekend?” 

Gina looks her over once, and then again. “Why?” she asks. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing?” Maria says. “I was just wondering.” 

“Hm,” Gina says. “Well none of your business.” 

It’s weird and unsettling. 

Gina begins her campaign of rising through the ranks from within. She’s going to own this dance troupe one day. She’s going to be the best damn dancer Floorgasm has ever seen. Ain’t nobody gonna bring her down, no matter what they say. She is beautiful in every single way… 

Wait, she slipped into Christina Aguilera lyrics again. 

The _point_ being, Gina doesn’t care that everyone seems “nice” and “friendly” and “welcoming.” She’s going to rule these bitches like the cruel and frightening overlord she is.

 

 

 

Rosa’s only been at the Academy three weeks, and already she’s been hit on more times than she can count, been called a beaner, spic, whore, and a cunt, and arrived at the conclusion that she’s never, not ever going to be alone with any of her male peers, at least not until she’s qualified to handle a gun. 

She’s got her shit spread out all around her, and the deepest scowl on her face she can hold for extended periods of time, hoping that no one is going to be dumb enough to sit down next to her in class today because she just can’t. She just needs ninety minutes without wanting to punch someone (an impossible dream, she _always_ wants to punch the instructor, but she’ll settle for a single class without homicidal thoughts towards the other students). 

She’s already been written up twice and she can’t afford another one, not in the first month. 

But apparently Rosa can’t have nice things because someone _is_ dumb enough to sit down next to her. 

He rolls into class thirty seconds before they’re supposed to get started, a mess of limbs and paper spilling out of his bag, and shaggy brown hair that is _definitely_ not regulation. He tumbles into the chair next to hers, his shit spilling everywhere, and holds out his hand for her to shake. 

“Hi, I’m Jake Peralta,” he offers with a dopey smile. Rosa hates him immediately. 

She’s met guys like him before, of course. Charming, happy go lucky. Guys who think they’re funny and smart, who think they’re _nice_. That’s generally not been the case in Rosa’s experience. Her gaze drops down to his hand briefly before flickering back up to his face. She can _feel_ her lip curling. Slowly, the grin drops off his face, and he withdraws his hand. 

“Alrighty then.” 

Jake keeps sitting next to her in class, and suddenly he’s around in _every_ class, talking to her like they’re friends or something. It doesn’t matter how often Rosa ignores him or tries to shut him down, the kid just keeps coming back. 

“Oh god, it’s a pushup day today,” he says once the instructor is done talking. “I hate pushups.” 

Rosa snorts. “Me too.” 

Jake turns an absolutely delighted grin her way. 

“What’s wrong with your face. Why is it doing that,” Rosa asks. 

“That is the first thing you’ve ever told me about yourself,” he says, still smiling. Like an idiot. “I feel really close to you right now, Rosa.” 

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. 

 

 

 

Amy passed the detective test on her first try, because of course she did. She didn’t sleep more than five consecutive hours on any given night for the three months leading up to it, and almost none at all in the thirty-six hours directly before. 

She came home and slept for thirteen hours straight, and then spent every moment between then and getting back her results positive she failed. 

She almost wore a hole in her floor with all her pacing, and everyone from her mother down to the guy she got her coffee from in the morning forbids her from talking to them about the results before they come in. Amy can’t help it. She’s excited. She’s scared. 

She’s possibly relating more to Jessie Spano than is technically healthy. 

She didn’t fail, and if she’s being completely honest, there was a part of her that knew she wouldn’t. He parents threw her a party, and got her an expensive watch. Her brothers each gave her a noogie, and made her promise they’d always bail them out of jail. 

Her Captain called while they were eating dinner. 

“Congratulations, Detective Santiago,” she says. 

Amy feels a thrill go down her spine at being called _detective_ for the first time by someone who wasn’t related to her. Detective Santiago. That was her. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” she says. “I’m excited to get to work.” 

“That’s what I’m calling about, actually. You’ve been reassigned.” 

“Reassigned?” Amy asks. “Why, oh god. What did I do wrong?” 

The Captain chuckles. “Nothing, Amy, for goodness sake. We just need to send you where you’re needed now that you’re a detective.” That thrill again. “Make sure the force is evenly distributed.” 

“Oh,” Amy says. “Where I am going?” 

“I think you’ll be a good fit,” she says. “The 99th precinct could use someone like you.”


End file.
